


Pieces

by somekindofgnome



Series: Kinktober 2020 [28]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Porn, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Crying, F/M, Mentions of Blood/Death, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Mission, Praise Kink, Self-Hatred, Smut, Trauma, Vaginal Sex, it's a sad one ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofgnome/pseuds/somekindofgnome
Summary: You get home from a brutal mission. Bucky’s not taking it so well.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Kinktober 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946362
Kudos: 83





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> This one has BIG sad girl energy. Today's prompt was "Praise Kink," which I honestly felt Bucky was perfect for. I definitely feel like he'd need to be told that he's doing a good job, or that he's a good person, even if he doesn't always think that himself.

You and Bucky get to the right side of the Atlantic in the wee hours of the morning. But by the time the Quinjet touches down, neither of you are ready for sleep.

You’ve seen some dark fucking shit tonight.

“You c’n…” Bucky croaks as the both of you stumble into your pitch-dark bedroom. “Go ahead and shower first. I’ll unpack.”

You’re feeling too delicate yourself to point out that you’re not so sure he should be alone right now. So when you get under the pounding water, it doesn’t surprise you at all that you start to cry.

Your sobs have always been silent- fragile, quiet little things to vent your feelings without causing a stir. Without _bothering_ another soul who might be burdened by your emotions. You’re not sure when that need echoed so deeply in your subconscious, but it’s been that way for as long as you can remember.

When plumes of velvet steam follow you out the bathroom door, Bucky’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his back turned. He’s still- _frighteningly_ so- but in hindsight, you’re just glad he didn’t shatter without you.

He’s not quite as good at putting himself back together as you are.

“Babe?”

Your voice sounds far smaller than it should. He lifts his head, but he doesn’t turn to find your eyes.

Tonight was grizzly. Tonight was blood-on-his-hands bad.

You crawl across the bed and your towel slips away behind you. He’s barely shrugged out of his tac coat since you left him, but it’s enough. When you put your arms around him and squeeze, he feels the bare press of your body through his t-shirt.

He draws a deep breath. The way it shutters makes your heart sink. He’s not crying, but he might as well be.

“Bucky,” you croon. He’s staring at his hands. He closes them into fists. Squeezes hard.

He killed a man between those bare hands tonight. A man that would have killed him if he hadn’t, but a living, flesh-and-blood human nonetheless.

The sensations that come when flesh dies beneath his fingertips are all too familiar.

“It’s okay,” you whisper to him, stroking your palms up his chest. He trembles in your arms. His hands brace against his thighs. He does not say anything.

“You’re okay,” you finish. “You’re alright. You did _such_ a good job tonight, baby.”

He leans forward, and you release him. He turns, lifting one knee onto the edge of the bed and dragging you between his hands. He kisses you all over- cheeks, nose, chin- then pushes you delicately to the pillows and crawls between your thighs.

“Keep going.” His words are _deadly_ soft, so shaky.

You draw a deep breath that cools your chest. You tangle your fingers through his unwashed hair.

“You’re good. You’re _so_ good to me.”

He groans quietly against your skin, kissing his way down your chest. He palms one breast and gives your other nipple a tentative little lick before sucking it lovingly into his mouth. For an instant, his eyes flick up to yours.

He wants to _worship_ you.

“You take such good care of me, baby,” you croon, trying not to bristle too hard as he nips at the tender bud of your nipple, He’s got goosebumps racing right up your chest. But you keep going- you know what he needs, and you’re going to give it to him.

“You protect me. You protect _all_ of us.”

He works his way down your body, kissing every inch of skin he can reach until he finds your slick pussy. Your skin is damp and fragrant from the shower, but he finds the musk of your core easily, nosing it delicately before diving in with his tongue. His hands slide under your thighs. His hips undulate softly into the mattress.

You _refuse_ to shut your mouth now.

“That’s it, baby,” you gasp. “ _Fuck,_ you make me feel so good, Bucky. You _love_ it, don’t you? _God,_ you eat my pussy so good, baby, just like that.”

Another groan echoes deep within your body, sending shivers of pleasure along the column of your spine. Your thighs are bracing beneath his palms, wanting to squeeze, wrap him up- but he’s holding you fast.

“So _strong,”_ you sigh. “So _fucking_ good for me, baby. You’re such a good boy for me.”

He flinches between your thighs, stirring fitfully in response to the praise he’s been waiting for. There’s something about that, about the way you call him a _good boy, so good for you,_ that folds peace into every inch of his body. He can’t be good for himself, he’s _no_ good for the others, but if he can be good for you, if he can make _you_ feel good, it’s enough.

When he surfaces again, he sheds the rest of his clothes and settles between your thighs. His cock hangs thick and heavy against your belly and he bends over you in a beautiful arc, cupping your jaws and kissing you _so_ fucking soft. The scruff that burned your thighs a moment ago is soft against your chin.

He pulls back. Looks at you with all the love in the world.

It almost scares you.

“It’s okay, Buck,” you whisper, combing the messy curtains of his hair away from his cheeks. “You can take it. I’ve got you.”

He lowers his head, draws his hips back, and sinks into you with a groan _so_ giving it makes you ache. He clings to you like a prayer in his darkest hours. You are the only one he believes when you tell him he’s got it right. That his best is _enough,_ even if it never really will be.

You hitch your thighs over his hips and squeeze _tight_ as you palm the muscles of his back and hold him close. As he starts to move, the thick muscle of his chest brushes over your soft flesh. You tug as much of his skin against yours as you possibly can.

“ _Baby,”_ you whine, “that’s it, _give_ it to me, Bucky, you’re _so_ fucking good. Such a good boy for me, Bucky, you’re _amazing.”_

He buries his face into the crook of your shoulder and ruts.

He gives you nothing more than the soft, breathy grunts of effort, the resounding _slap_ of his flesh on yours. His arms brace at your sides. His thighs bristle between yours. He’s so strong, sculpted by the gods, and yet he’s crumbling in your arms.

You hold him together. You whisper to him over and over, _you’re so good to me Bucky, you’re so good for me._ You love him. He knows that. You make him listen to you say it anyway.

It’s only when he comes apart that he lets the rest of it show.

He drives into you as his body begins to shake. His voice is thrown into his throat, tightening hard. He lets out a quiet string of desperate, tight curses- _fuck,_ he gasps, your name _so soft_ from his lips _, I love you._

When he collapses into you, spent, he cries.

You hold him. You _let_ him.

He’s not ready to let go of you tonight. You take him back into the shower. You wash his hair. You let him hide. Sometimes, you push him. Not tonight. Not after tonight.

He won’t sleep for long. You can feel the nightmares brewing low in the back of his brain, but you hold him tight and let him try.


End file.
